IT’S THE MIDDLE OF 2005 and the Waratahs have reached the Super 12 final, in which we’ll face the Crusaders in Christchurch. I want my dad there and he agrees to come. The night before the game, as we eat pasta in an Italian restaurant, I notice how unhappy he looks. Which makes us quite the pair of sad sacks because my personal life is a mess. I’d been hoping Dad might cheer me up, but by the look of him he’d wipe the smile off the face of the Cheshire Cat.
Dad, who’s the boss at Cronulla RLC, tells me he’s been forced to move on some players he regarded as akin to family. It’s part of the job, he says, but a brutal part that never gets easier. He says he’s unhappy in his life and within himself. I probe a little, but he doesn’t say much. We mostly just sit with each other, both of us very sombre, and in the end, we hug and don’t let go. I love my dad so much. Yes, he was an arse to my mum at times, but overall, he’s a good man.
